


Fics for Fires

by omgbubblesomg



Category: Hannibal (TV), Supernatural, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Witcher (TV)
Genre: ADDITIONAL TAGS IN CHAPTER TITLES, Angel Sam, Arranged Marriage, Blow Jobs, Car Sex, College, Crack, Dark Cas, Dom/sub Undertones, First Time, Fluff, Gags, Godstiel - Freeform, Hurt/Comfort, Identity Porn, Love Confessions, M/M, Mild Gore, Multi, Near Death Experiences, Other, Pining, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sleep Sex, Tentacles, Whump, Wing Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-14
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:35:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 21
Words: 14,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22253521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/omgbubblesomg/pseuds/omgbubblesomg
Summary: A collection of (unrelated) ficlets for the Australian bushfire crisis.1.Destiel; T; 300; Fluff2.Sastiel; E; 400; Dark!Cas3.Geralt/Jaskier; E; 800; Tentacles4.Wincest; M; 650; Apocalypse AU5.Destiel; T; 600; Wing kink6.Samifer; E; 550; Gore, Rape7.Stony; T; 800; Identity porn8.Sastiel; E; 600; Dark!Older!Cas9.Wincest; E; 900; Wing kink10.Geralt/Jaskier; E; 850; Blow jobs11.Sastiel; M; 550; Crack, Bat sex12.DestielE; 750; First time13.Team Free Will; T; 800; Hurt/Comfort14.Wincest; E; 550; Dark!Dean15.Wincestiel; E; 750; Nonconsentacles16.Wincest; M; 450; Pining17.Geralt/Jaskier; G; 1000; Podcast18.Hannigram; E; 600; Murder husbands19.Sam/Dean/Jack; E; 650; First time20.Wincest; E; 800; D/s21.Wincest; E; 850; Boyking!Sam
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester, Castiel/Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jack Kline/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Lucifer/Sam Winchester, Steve Rogers/Tony Stark, Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 71
Kudos: 337





	1. Dean/Human!Cas; T; Fluff

**Author's Note:**

> Each fic written for a prompt. You can find more details on why I'm writing [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Being human sucks,” Cas says. Dean looks up at him but Cas isn’t really doing anything, just miserably staring down at his sandwich like it’s just developed sentience to tell him he has a bad haircut.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Dean/Cas me? Keep em human, but make me laugh ❤

“Being human sucks,” Cas says. Dean looks up at him but Cas isn’t really doing anything, just miserably staring down at his sandwich like it’s just developed sentience to tell him he has a bad haircut.

“It’s okay,” Dean says. Meaning the being-human part, not the sentient-sandwich part.

Cas looks up at him with the kicked puppy expression. Not the expression that a kicked puppy would wear, but the expression that would literally make puppies kick themselves out of sheer misery.

He sighs deeply. He looks down at his own lunch. He looks over at Sam’s lunch. Sam’s doing his I’m Not Involved In This face.

“What’s so wrong with being human?” he finally asks.

“Food tastes weird,” Cas tells him unhappily. “Sometimes my stomach hurts and I need to poop. Sometimes my stomach hurts and I _don’t_ need to poop. It’s maddening.”

Sam studiously takes a bite of his salad and continues scrolling on his phone. Dean’s going to put pepper in his toothpaste. Try and ignore _that,_ asshole.

“My feet hurt if I spend too long on them. My eyes hurt if I spend too long researching. My penis hurts every morning. My back hurts if I—”

“Hold up,” Dean says. “Your peni—your _dick?”_

“Every morning,” Cas agrees sadly. He takes a bite of his sandwich, also sadly. “Sometimes it doesn’t go down for hours.” 

Sam stands up very deliberately, picks up his salad, and leaves the room. Without even saying anything. Dean’s going to put pepper in his _everything._

He takes a breath. “I know you know how to deal with that, Cas.”

Cas’s expression would make a whole roomful of puppies kick themselves. Dean starts mentally calculating the best route to his closest bottle of whiskey, because he already knows he’s going to be the one to Do Something about this.

Cas and every puppy in the universe look at Dean. “Help me be better at being human?”

And well, what can he do except agree?

Being human sucks, so he might as well, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: metarachel  
> Original post [here.](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190192114036/rachelhaimowitz-you-got-it-pal-thanks-for)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	2. Cas/Sam; E; arranged marriage, noncon, dark!Cas

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sweetheart,” he said. “Beloved.” He kissed his bride’s nose, his cheeks, his beautiful mouth. Everything tasted like salt. “There’s no need for that,” he said gently. He thumbed the corner of his bride’s eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: sastiel + arranged marriage + wedding night. And someone's definitely getting dicked down whether they want it or not. Bottom Sam and dubcon or romanticized noncon preferred.

His new bride was crying. Again. Shoulders shaking gently beneath the extravagant wedding garb.

Castiel pushed him down flat on the bed and sat over him, making soothing sounds.

“Sweetheart,” he said. “Beloved.” He kissed his bride’s nose, his cheeks, his beautiful mouth. Everything tasted like salt. “There’s no need for that,” he said gently. He thumbed the corner of his bride’s eyes.

“S-Sorry,” Samuel of house Winchester stuttered. Each breath was accompanied by a wet hitch of his lungs. He wasn’t pushing Castiel away but he was fisting the sheets of the bed. Their bed. The place where their marriage would soon be finalised.

Castiel kissed him again, just to feel the trembling of his lips against his own. Then he trailed down to his jaw, his throat, the vulnerable bob of his Adam’s apple. He began undoing the buttons of Sam’s white blouse. He wasn’t wearing anything else. Castiel had many fiefdoms under his domain, now joined to the Winchester name, but the planes of pale skin beneath his fingers trumped them all. All his. Unless…

“Did anyone prepare you?” he asked, a dark jealousy twisting in his gut. Sometimes boys were fucked before marriage, so they weren’t as likely to bleed out on their wedding bed.

“What?” Sam was trembling, eyes lit golden by the bedside lamp. “I don’t know what you–”

Castiel bit savagely into the meat of Sam’s pectoral muscle, then soothed the bite with his tongue. Before this wedding had been arranged, Sam had been destined for a life as a knight. He was thick, strong. No part of him was soft.

Well… Castiel put a thigh between his legs and pressed down. Maybe some of him was soft. He chuckled against the abused flesh beneath his mouth.

Sam cried out, surging up into his hands. 

“That hurt,” he said, fresh tears dripping onto his cheeks. “Dean said, he said it wouldn’t hurt. He said you would be, he said that you would be gentle.”

Castiel laughed darkly, and rubbed his own straining erection over Sam’s soft cock. “Your brother wasn’t wrong,” he said. “It won’t hurt if I’m gentle.” He cupped Sam’s cock, bounced it experimentally. It practically shriveled, shying away from him. He grinned savagely, and closed his hand into a fist. “But I don’t plan on being gentle, beloved.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: samanddeaninpanties  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190166281896/sent-a-donation-details-are-in-pms-you-said-we).
> 
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	3. Geralt/Jaskier; E; tentacles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s been approximately 0.5 seconds since Geralt last checked on Jaskier, so he’s about due for a bardic disaster. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This fic is inspired by art! Check out the series of panels by Super Muuh Cow on twitter [here](https://twitter.com/SuperMuuhCow/status/1215705710857785346?s=19). Warning! NSFW!

“Geralt, help!”

It’s been approximately 0.5 seconds since Geralt last checked on Jaskier, so he’s about due for a bardic disaster. 

He sighs. “Well? What is it this time?” Another outfit malfunction, no doubt. Or a life-or-death brawl with a tabby cat.

He turns around.

That… is not what he expected.

“Geralt!” Jaskier yelps. He’s straining forward, toes digging into the ground in an attempt to lean away from the… _thing_ that’s got him. Great big ropey vine-things are squirming around his legs and torso, seeming to come straight out of a lump of bark next to the path. The lump of bark could be mistaken for a plant, if he squints. A plant with memory issues, since it’s apparently forgotten that most plants are stationary and don’t go in for the whole attacking-strangers-on-the-road sort of thing.

Geralt assesses the situation.

_“If you say Hmm so help me Melitele I’ll stick you with your own sword, Geralt!”_

“You don’t know how to swing a sword,” Geralt points out. The plant loops another few vines around Jaskier’s midriff and begins to haul him towards the forest floor. Jaskier gets yanked to his knees, despite apparently putting all his energy into remaining upright.

“I’ll write a song titled _The White Wolf Has A Tiny Prick,_ see if I don’t!”

“Hmm,” Geralt says. 

“Oh, fuck you!”

“Hmm,” Geralt says again, partly to be an ass and partly because it looks like the plant-thing has the “fuck you” part of the equation taken care of as well. It’s not like Jaskier’s being _hurt,_ exactly. More like… cuddled. Aggressively cuddled.

The vines rip Jaskier’s tunic open, pinging buttons in every direction.

Okay, _very_ aggressively cuddled.

“Geraaa _aalt!”_ Jaskier loses a few years of his life but gains a couple of decibels as he gets pulled over backwards, the vines hauling his arms above his head and his pants down around his ankles in the same movement. “Geralt, you have half a dozen swords, _use them!”_

“I prefer your sword,” Geralt says, because the vines are prying Jaskier’s legs apart and Jaskier’s cock—(where has he been hiding _that_ this whole time)—is so full it’s going to need it’s own scabbard soon, too. 

An intriguing thought, and one that definitely doesn’t have him thinking about sheathing his own cock, somewhere nice and tight and warm…

Maybe the vines are telepathic or something, because they wind further down Jaskier’s legs to pull at his ankles, stretching them out wide enough that the strain must be surpassing discomfort and heading straight for pain. Geralt grabs for the silver sword because watching Jaskier get stripped is one thing but watching him get dismembered isn’t quite as sexy.

Fortunately the vines only seem intent on getting Jaskier as vulnerable as possible, because they plant (hah) his limbs just like that, stretched out in all directions with nowhere to go.

And then…

Oh, and then tiny little vine tendrils start sprouting, and Jaskier begins to _wail._ Little flexible sprigs begin to curl around his nipples, his toes, his balls. The inquisitive ones begin to probe at the tip of his cock and down to his ass and Jaskier starts thrashing against them. 

“Geralt,” he cries. “Geralt, for the love of— _ahh!_ If you don’t— _oh, gods—_ if you don’t do something soon I’m going to—”

Just what, exactly, he’s going to do gets lost in a wail as the tendrils dip into his ass and begin to spread him, just a bit. The tendrils around his balls and cock loop and squeeze gently. They’re not doing much, just… teasing. 

And then it hits.

They’re not teasing.

They’re _putting on a show._

For _Geralt._

“Oh,” he says. 

“Do something,” Jaskier says again, almost panting.

Geralt unbottens his trousers. 

“Yes,” Jaskier begs. “That, do that, oh, _ahh,_ please!”

“Well, if you insist.” He puts a hand on Jaskier’s hip and Jaskier flinches up into him, his hips stuttering towards Geralt like his body already knows exactly who it belongs to. His cock bounces in the air between them, obscene and desperate. The vines aren’t stimulating him at all, just holding him tight. That must be infuriating.

One of the vines tries to wrap itself around Geralt’s arm, and he smacks it away. Either the plant is busy enough with one person to tease and restrain, or it knows better than to fuck with a witcher.

Besides, this witcher has more important things to fuck with.

“I told you to stay at the inn,” he says. “This is what happens when you don’t stay at the inn.” And then he lets the eager little vines guide him to where Jaskier’s being held open for him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: gertiecraign  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190251529331/it-took-me-a-while-to-find-the-art-but-boy-howdy)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	4. Sam/Dean; M; love confessions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m not losing you,” Sam tells him. He checks his watch. Still ten minutes left. That’s a long goodbye, for them. But this one will be the last one. There’ll be no coming back. He kneels next to Dean’s chair, puts his forehead on Dean’s knee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This prompt is based on the song "To Lose My Life" by the White Lies

_He said to lose my life or lose my love_   
_That’s the nightmare I’ve been running from_   
_So let me hold you in my arms a while_   
_I was always careless as a child_

* * *

“Don’t,” Dean whispers, straining forward against the rope. “Sammy, _don’t.”_

Sam fastens the last knot, and it’s almost as tight as the one in his stomach. “It’ll be easier,” he says, and his voice hiccoughs away into nothing. He coughs, clears his throat. The sharp wedge of pain doesn’t move, lodged right up alongside his vocal chords, ready to scream. “It’ll be easier,” he says again, his voice too high and his emotions too easy to read, right there on the surface for Dean to dig into. Third time's a charm. “It’ll be easier if you don’t talk.”

“Like hell,” Dean hisses, almost before Sam’s gotten the whole sentence out, because Dean never does anything by half measures, not even rulebreaking. “Sam, whatever you think you have to do, you _don’t.”_

“I’m not losing you,” Sam tells him. He checks his watch. Still ten minutes left. That’s a long goodbye, for them. But this one will be the last one. There’ll be no coming back. He kneels next to Dean’s chair, puts his forehead on Dean’s knee.

Dean fights. “I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.” His hands twist beneath the knots, searching for a loose thread. But Sam learned how to restrain someone from Dean, who learned from John, and there’s nothing to grab. No leeway. No second chances. 

“It’s you or me,” Sam says, finally letting the wedge at the back of his throat crack into his voice. “And I won’t, I, I can’t, Dean I _won’t—”_

“Let me out,” Dean says calmly, though it’s only the thin veneer of calm. The sheerest surface above an ocean of all the rage and fear that is Dean.

“Lose my life, or lose my love,” Sam says to Dean’s shoes. He feels Dean still. There’s five more minutes left. More than enough time for this last confession. Sam’s already on his knees. He could be praying.

“Your love,” Dean says without a rising inflection. “Sam…”

Sam twists away from him, can’t let the last thing he hears be… _this._

But, “Sammy,” Dean says again. “You never said.”

Sam’s trying to edge away but he’s still anchored. One hand around Dean’s ankle, fingers lined up between the ropes. The lowest part of Dean he can touch. He can’t bare it. He wills himself to let go. “I never had to say,” he whispers, voice gone so far that he’s barely even audible, though Dean can still hear him; he always can.

“Stay,” Dean begs him. His knees shift fractionally, like he’s trying to reach Sam with any part of him still mobile. “I still, Sam, I, _me too,_ Sam, _please.”_

Two more minutes.

Sam looks up.

Dean’s crying, of course he is. All the weeks of blood and dirt and grime are nothing in the face of this. One last apocalypse to see them through. Sam kisses his knee. “Say it,” he begs. There’s time for this. There’s time for this.

“No.” Dean’s shirt is straining under the pressure of all these knots, where Dean’s forcing his body forward against their inexorable hold. All the might that is Dean Winchester, finally succumbing beneath a few yards of rope. Sam puts hands on his thighs, his hips.

“Say it,” he say again, voice wet, face wet, heart wet. Each thudding pulse is for Dean. He could count the remaining heartbeats on both hands.

He has to go. 

He makes it to the door.

“Stay,” Dean begs, voice fracturing into a thousand emotions, unnamed but not unknown, because they’re Sam’s too. “I love you,” he says, and, “Sammy,” and, “Please,” and, “Stay.”

Sam turns around, his hand on the doorknob. Dean sits in the centre of the room, broken and begging and betrayed. His face as open as his heart.

Sam stays.

And he kisses Dean.

And in the morning there’s just an empty chair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: Silver9mm  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190205676706/thenutbusters-he-said-to-lose-my-life-or-lose-my)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	5. Dean/Cas; T; Wing kink, fluff

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The expensive feather oil warms up quickly in his hands and Cas makes a pleased sound when Dean rubs circles over the muscles on either side of his shoulder blades. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Destiel fluff" (sorry it got more porny than fluffy)

He doesn’t start at the wings themselves. He gets himself comfy on the back of Cas’s thighs and puts Brooklyn-99 on to play quietly in the background, and when he puts his hands on his boyfriend he ends up starting at Cas’s shoulders first. He’s not a masseuse or anything. He doesn’t really know what he’s doing. But the expensive feather oil warms up quickly in his hands and Cas makes a pleased sound when Dean rubs circles over the muscles on either side of his shoulder blades. 

“Comfy, babe?”

Cas makes another affirmative-ish sound which is more of a hum than any actual word. Dean drags his thumbs down the sides of his spine, bumping almost lazily over each vertebrae. He reaches the place where Cas’s skin starts to prickle a bit; where the plane that Cas’s wings are on meets the plane that Dean’s on. There’s no definitive line between one and the other, at least, not one that Dean can tell. There’s just Cas’s soft, relaxed body and then his enormous, shifting wings. 

He scratches lightly at the place that’s almost a seam but isn’t, enjoying the frisson of energy and the way skin turns into feathers without ever seeming to change at all. He keeps rubbing there until the hair on the back of his arms is all on end and his ears are starting to pop. Cas makes a subvocal sound like the letter g got stuck behind his tongue. 

“Dean,” he slurs. Dean loves his name when Cas says it like that. Dean could listen to his name in Cas’s wet-open mouth forever.

“Yeah,” he agrees, even though Cas wasn’t asking a question. “Yeah, sweetheart.” 

He puts more of the oil on his palms and slicks his fingers up, so he can spread his hands down from the wing joint, out along the bony arch. Cas practically purrs, and his legs try to open reflexively. He knows what he’s getting after this. Dean swats his butt gently, which really doesn’t help the situation.

“Patience,” he teases. “I haven’t even started!”

“Then _get started,”_ Cas tells him, and he’s trying to sound all intimidating but really he just sounds desperate. Dean hasn’t even gotten to the good bit yet. 

“Sir, yes, sir!” Dean says anyway, saluting cheekily, and since Cas can’t see the sloppy salute he makes sure to press his _other_ salute up against the back of Cas’s thigh instead.

Cas tries to spread his knees again and Dean clamps his own legs over them, snickering quietly as he gets back to work. The frisson of grace is stronger now. Every time he reaches for Cas’s feathers he can feel it sparking against his fingertips. 

He smooths the oil down the length of the thick bone at the top of Cas’s wing. _Humerus,_ he says in his head, because Cas has been trying to teach him. _Ulna._ Angel wings aren’t _quite_ like bird wings, but they’re close. The bone is denser, because it’s not muscle that creates lift. The feathers are delicate and soft in one direction, but razor sharp in the other. When he drags his fingers down them they give beneath him easily, but he knows better than to try it in reverse.

He spreads the oil liberally, cupping the join of each wing one at a time so he can work his fingers through the feathers without Cas having to unfold his wings all the way, a position which can get physically tiring after a while, especially when Cas is already spending so much energy in trying to get Dean to massage his clever fingers further south. 

“Okay,” he relents, when Cas’s muffled pleas turn into muffled whimpers turn into outright muffled begging. “Don’t get yourself in a flap.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: hexmaniacchoco  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190232768796/for-the-donationfic-thing-is-destiel-fluff-okey)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	6. Sam/Lucifer; E; Gore, Rape, Gags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s been sobbing _Yes_ for the last few weeks but Lucifer doesn’t want a yes from his mouth, he wants a yes from _everything._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Lucifer making Sam say 'yes' so he can finally have his true vessel. My only other ask is- I really need a broken Sammy... And smut and rough fucking in all your glory."

Sam’s gag is wet through. He’s been sobbing _Yes_ for the last few weeks but Lucifer doesn’t want a yes from his mouth, he wants a yes from _everything._ He wants Sam’s whole body. He wants to own every molecule, every passing thought.

He puts a hand over Sam’s mouth, above the gag. Presses his fingers against the sodden cloth to push it further in until Sam chokes, eyes wet and dazed and begging.

“Give in,” Lucifer tells him gently, and Sam hiccoughs on a silent sob, desperate in his misery because he thinks he’s already given in. He thinks that a muffled _Yes_ will be enough for the King of Hell.

Lucifer kisses his pretty throat. His heaving chest. 

“Give me everything,” he whispers to Sam’s weary heart, separated from Lucifer’s lips only by a few flimsy bones and blood vessels. He kisses out from it in widening arcs, until he reaches the ruined flesh where Sam’s belly used to be. For a moment he can’t remember what he did to cause such devastation but Sam’s whimpering goes high-pitched and horrified, and he remembers pulling stringy intestines out inch by inch, fondling all the gooey insides that would soon be his.

He fixes it all with a kiss. Makes Sam whole and healthy again. Then he bites into the unmarked flesh and grinds his teeth together, splitting skin and swallowing mouthful after mouthful of blood. Putting Sam’s body into this one until they’re indistinguishable from each other.

 _No,_ Sam sobs, his body crying out with it. _Yes. Stop._

“I’ll stop when it’s my blood, not yours,” he says, leaving sticky blood-red kisses down Sam’s abdomen, past his exhausted cock. Lucifer’s already teased Sam into a hundred ruined pleasures, but there’s still one more to inflict.

“Hold these,” he says, folding Sam’s legs up towards his chest. Sam’s hands are shaking but he does what he’s told, fingers clutching desperately at the back of his knees, holding himself wide. He’s so close to being perfect _._ He’s so close to being Lucifer’s. Just one more push. 

Lucifer spits mostly blood onto his hand, palms his cock roughly. Sam’s shaking his head but he doesn’t let go of his legs. He’s being so good. He’s going to be so _good._

Lucifer lines himself up and bends low over Sam’s willing-unwilling body. “Say yes,” he whispers, pushing but not entering just yet. “Say yes to me.”

 _Yes,_ Sam starts to say behind his gag, and Lucifer crushes his throat with one hand. The pitiful thrum of Sam’s heart knocks insistently against his palm, and Lucifer bears down against it.

“Not like that,” he hisses. “Say it everywhere but there.”

Sam’s crying again. Beautiful. Terrified. Choking. His mouth works pathetically against the fabric, still trying to say _Yes_ even as he dies. Lucifer presses against him both inside and out. Weighs heavy on his mind.

The give is like snow at the top of a mountain. It lands slow, intoxicating. And then it builds, and Lucifer presses down against it and there’s resistance for only a heartbeat that could be years, but then the snow piles up and it breaks in an avalanche, taking the resistance with it.

 _Yes,_ Sam says, at last, at last. His body opens. 

Lucifer sinks in, and it feels like home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: palishere  
> Original prompt [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190192632061/i-sent-a-donation-to-wires-who-are-assisting-to)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	7. Tony/Steve; T; Identity porn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Iron Man arrives.
> 
> Steve could write odes to this guy. Steve probably _will_ write odes to this guy. He obliterates half a squadron of waspopus (waspopii?) with one well-aimed repulsor beam. Steve’s going to marry him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Can I get some Stony identity porn"

Tony stark is an Asshole with an A bigger than the one he’s stuck on his fucking building. The building that Steve now has to _live in,_ what the _fuck_ , Fury. Steve’s pretty sure the only reason Stark wants the Avengers in his building is so he can keep an even closer eye on them so he can continue reaping all the rewards of being the bankrolling billionaire behind them.

Not like Steve’s not out there every second day saving the world by the skin of his teeth. Not like the rest of the team isn’t banged-up almost 24/7 from the constant fighting. Oh no, life’s a god damn _breeze_ if you’ve got money and absolutely zero fucks.

Steve flings his shield at the closest whatever-the-heck they’re battling today. Some kind of giant octopus-wasp hybrid that’s been terrorizing the east coast in droves. The thing lets out a scream that’s like 80% squelch (which is 80% too much squelch) and promptly falls to earth, where it swells and then pops with thick oozing liquid.

Gross, gross, gross, gross, gross.

You wouldn’t catch Tony goddamn Stark and Tony goddamn Stark’s three-piece goddamn suit in this absolute goddamn hellhole. Not until an hour after the fight, when he turns up looking like he’s just flown in on a nice relaxing private jet to land in the middle of the chaos for a few photos and an interview.

He grabs a tentacle that’s trying to make sweet sweet love to Clint’s quiver. And then he rips it the fuck off.

Clint gets covered in monster slime, but he’s alive.

They’re all covered in monster slime, actually. God, this is so gross. And there’s no end in sight. The _things_ just keep coming.

And then.

Like a literal angel bursting from the clouds.

Iron Man arrives.

Steve could write odes to this guy. Steve probably _will_ write odes to this guy. He obliterates half a squadron of waspopus (waspopii?) with one well-aimed repulsor beam. Steve’s going to marry him. 

He signals the rest of his team to form around Iron Man, so they’re facing outwards in a circle, with Iron Man up high above them. The monsters fall like enormous, pus-filled flies. Iron Man lands with a thunk next to Steve as Steve dismembers the last of them. Steve knows he’s there from the prickling at the back of his neck. He turns around and tries to wipe some of the muck off his face. Not because he’s trying to look pretty for Iron Man or anything. Or well. Okay, maybe a _little_ because he’s trying to look pretty for Iron Man. Or at least less disgusting.

“We’d better clean up before Stark arrives for a photo shoot,” he tells Iron Man. “You should stick around this time, you were amazing, you shouldn’t let that asshole get all the credit.”

If robot faces could arch eyebrows this one would have both eyebrows in the skyline. “Oh really?” Iron Man says, sounding like he’s laughing. “You hate him that much?”

Steve kicks at a slime-covered lump that might have been a wasp head in a past life. “He’s just a dickhead,” he confesses. “He’s not like you, he doesn’t know what it’s like on the ground.”

“Not like me, huh?”

Steve blushes and knows instinctively that there’s not enough grime on his face to cover it. “You were amazing today,” he says, blushing harder. “You got us out of a pretty big shitstorm. When I saw you coming down I honestly could have kissed you.” He blinks “I mean. Um. I mean I could’ve. I could’ve, I mean–”

The metal face is smirking at him. He can _feel_ it.

“Go on then,” Iron Man says, tapping the face plate.

Oh god, does he really mean–?

Steve can’t help himself. He puts a hand on Iron Man’s face, wipes some of the gunk off the little slit that serves as a mouth. He imagines his lips there. “Really?” he whispers.

Iron Man’s hands are on his hips. When did they get there?

“Really,” he says.

Steve leans in, tilts his head. He closes his eyes at the last second, and there’s a faint _click-woosh_ sound, and his lips touch warm skin instead of cold, unforgiving metal.

He opens his eyes.

“Jarvis,” Tony fucking-oh-my-god-it’s-really-him Stark says. “Did you get that on camera?”

“Yes, sir,” comes the AI’s voice.

Tony leans in and presses another quick kiss to the side of Steve’s mouth, which is still open in shock and is probably going to stay that way for the foreseeable future. 

“See you at home,” he says, "I have a photo-shoot and an interview to get to." And then he has the audacity to _wink_ and then he has the even bigger audacity to flip his face plate back down and power up his repulsors, zooming into the sky and splattering Steve with even more monster goo on the way. 

_Oh no,_ Steve thinks. _I have a crush on Tony Stark._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: writergamermom  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190206512866/can-i-get-some-stony-identity-porn-whatever-makes)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	8. Dark!Cas/College!Sam; E; Rape, Somnambulism

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He sank to his knees beside the couch and got closer still, fingers creeping inexorably toward’s the little stripe of skin visible between Sam’s shirt and jeans. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _Cas's son Jack goes to Stanford, and he's brought his new bf Sam home for Spring Break. Cue Cas being the sweaty creeper Dad who is obsessively attracted to pretty Sam. He wasn't gonna do anything about it, but one night the boys come home drunk, and after helping jack to his room, he comes back to find 'pretty sam' passed out on the couch. noncon sastiel ensues. sam is mostly out of it, incoherent._

He peeled Sam out of his shoes and jacket, and let him collapse backwards onto the couch. He was so long that his feet stuck out at one end and his head stuck out at the other. There was so much of him, and though he hadn’t grown into all that loose-limbed awkwardness yet, Cas wouldn’t want him any other way.

He leaned over him, breathed in the boozy boyish stink of him. He sank to his knees beside the couch and got closer still, fingers creeping inexorably toward’s the little stripe of skin visible between Sam’s shirt and jeans. 

If he was a good parent—a good _man—_ he wouldn’t even think of this. He wouldn’t even think of Sam—a college-kid, he’s son’s _friend—_ all stretched out and wanting beneath him.

But he wasn’t good. He wasn’t even all that ashamed. Especially when Sam had basically been served up to him on a silver platter.

Sam didn’t so much as twitch when Cas finally made contact. Cas lifted his shirt further out of the way and spread his palms flat on all that wonderful golden skin. He kissed Sam’s stomach. Nipped him gently with his teeth. The tiniest furrow appeared between Sam’s brows but was gone a moment later. He snuffled in his sleep, toes curling in his socks. But the rest of him stayed loose and warm and welcoming.

Awake, Sam was shy, inquisitive. Big-eyed and bigger-bodied, taking up too much room despite his best attempts at curling into his own centre of mass. Asleep, however… Cas could see how handsome he would one day be, though he wasn’t quite there yet. For now he was…

_Pretty._

Pretty, pretty, Sam.

“My pretty Sammy,” he whispered, undoing Sam’s belt and the fly of his jeans. “My sweet boy.” He curled the jeans down and even when he had to lift Sam’s hips Sam didn’t move more than a fitful little clench of his hands.He slid Sam’s underwear down, too. And oh, even Sam’s cock was pretty. Waiting to be loved. 

He trailed his kisses lower. He opened his mouth wide to breathe warmth over where Sam’s cock lay soft and sleepy, a direct mirror of its owner. He kissed it directly on the tip, and kitten-licked up to Sam’s belly, trying not to go too fast, trying to enjoy this while it lasted. He wondered if his son had ever done this before. Or if Sam had ever done this for his son. Is that what they were to each other? Or would he be the first to taste Sam here?

He kissed back down Sam’s cock and used just the barely-there press of his fingertips to ease Sam’s foreskin down, revealing the pretty pink head beneath. Sam’s breath hitched and his thighs flinched together for just a moment before easing back down, even further apart than before, guided by Cas’s gentle hands. 

“There,” Cas cooed. “Pretty boy.”

Sam tried to roll over but Cas held his hip and his shoulder, whispering soft little encouragements as he did. Sam might not hear the words, or remember who uttered them, but his body knew Cas. His body trusted Cas. Cas was so helpful, kind. Always had a spare room or an extra meal. Sam settled again, and Cas looked all the way up his body, at his sleepy, open face. He opened his mouth and took Sam inside him, and watched every second of emotion that crossed Sam’s face, completely unobstructed. 

_Pretty Sammy,_ Cas thought, smiling tenderly around his mouthful. It was lucky he was so deeply unconscious. Because Cas had a lot of plans for him, tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: azrielrose  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190191723616/hi-fren-sent-donation-details-in-pm-might)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	9. Sam/Dean; E; wingkink, car sex, established relationship, angel!Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam’s wings want Dean’s fingers, too. Sam’s wings know Dean’s touch.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _May I please have Sam/Dean, anything really - h/c and abused!Dean is lovely but NOT death fic or them being separated or hurting/hating each other please. We get enough of that in canon... And I especially love wings, tentacles, collaring and car sex. You don't HAVE to write all of those together but kudos if you can!_

They barely make it out of the town before Dean’s throwing the car into the first semi-private off-road he can see and grabbing for Sam like he’s a drowning man. Sam’s just as grabby, all clenching hands and teeth in Dean’s neck; the way he always gets when a hunt’s gone well and they’re both still running high on adrenaline. Dean’s always hot for Sam but like this, God, like this he’d do anything in the world to get to him.

They manage to part long enough for Dean to wrench open the driver door, race around the side of the car, and get into the back. Sam doesn’t even bother, just tumbles gracelessly over the front seat so he’s waiting for Dean all disheveled and beautiful by the time Dean joins the party.

“Do the thing,” Dean begs of him. “The wings, Sam, show me the—”

There’s a muffled _phwoomph_ and they’re just _there,_ Sam’s beautiful wings. White in the shadow of the car’s interior but golden wherever the setting sun touches. They’re not _really_ here, they’re too big to fit inside the car, but Sam brings them onto the adjacent plane so Dean can grab big handfuls of them, the thrilling knowledge that the feather’s are corporeal only where Dean’s touching them. Sam’s wings want Dean’s fingers, too. Sam’s wings _know_ Dean’s touch.

“There,” Sam gasps, arching, trying to push more of himself into Dean’s hands. His fingers go wide on Baby’s upholstery. His head lowers and his shoulders go up, and Dean wrenches the feathers he’s holding; he knows how Sam likes it when he’s like this. Get the feathers all crumpled and odd-angled so he can smooth them back out again later. 

He shoves a hand up the back of Sam’s shirt, rucking it up over his head so he can see the place the wings aren’t really attached, but where they would be if Sam summoned them properly. He grinds his knuckles into Sam’s shoulder blades and Sam keens, rolling against the leather, wings shivering. “Dean,” he gasps. “De– _oh.”_

“Come on,” Dean tells him, desperate. His jeans are straining against his fly. He shoves Sam where he needs him: kneeling, almost all of him stuffed into the footwell, knees at odd angles to make it work. Sam will have bruises tomorrow and he’ll ask Dean to do it again just to make sure the bruises stay. His forehead is pressed against the back of the front seat and Dean grinds it into place one-handed while he fishes himself out of his jeans with the other. Sam’s wings try and reach backwards for him and Dean lets them, lets Sam collapse backwards into his lap, so Dean’s dick is lined straight up Sam’s spine, nudging the base of his neck. 

Sam writhes in place, trying to reach over his shoulder to get to Dean. Dean catches his hands and puts them back on the leather in front of him.

“Stay,” he orders. “You know what to do.”

He gets his hands in the downy coverts at the top of Sam’s wings, and yanks the wings back and down, so they’re cradling his dick. The tingle-spark of Sam’s not-quite-grace flushing him hot all over.

“Dean,” Sam keens. “I can, _ah,_ I can feel you.”

“I know baby, I know, I, _nnh,_ keep making those sounds for me.” He thrusts sharply into the welcoming warmth. He knows, he _knows._ Sam’s wings aren’t here, they’re a part of Sam that’s so indefinable that Sam himself can’t put words to them. Dean’s fucking up into the part of Sam that’s more at his core than his soul is.

He uses his thighs to hold Sam steady and uses Sam’s wings to throw him off balance, keeping him careening between the front and back seat, Dean’s dick shoving into his feathers at every thrust. Every few seconds he yanks Sam back hard enough that his spine curves and the head of Dean’s dick rubs up between his shoulder blades, skin on skin and skin on feathers and precome oozing over all of it. 

Sam goes glaze-eyed and panting, halfway to that other place where he’s more angel than human, without really being either. “Dean,” he slurs. His eyes are open but he’s staring at things that aren’t here, no doubt centered entirely in the plane where Dean’s cock is ruffling him up something awful, making a mess out of him, making him _Dean’s._

Dean contorts his own spine so he can press his lips to Sam’s slack ones, and then he puts the heel of his hand on Sam’s sternum and shoves him down so the next thrust up is brutally hard. Golden light literally sparks out of Sam’s wing tips, so Dean does it again, and again. Sam’s wings clench and flutter around him.

“Show me,” Dean orders, not sure if Sam can hear him. “Let me see you come, Sammy.”

Sam’s hand flops down to his own jeans, still unopened, and Dean slaps his hand away. 

“The other way,” he says. “Come the other way.”

Sam’s eyes close, and Dean plunges both hands into his wings, wraps his fingers in whatever he can reach and draws Sam’s wings backwards to cradle his own cock as the golden light gets stronger. 

“Do it,” he whispers. “Show me, baby.”

Light explodes in every direction, and Dean’s awash in the unmistakable sensation of _Sam,_ screaming his name in the other plane as he comes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: fledgesfancies  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190298869801/fic-for-fire-fighting-thank-you-so-much-d-may-i)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	10. Geralt/Jaskier; E; Established relationship, Blow jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier is barely through the door before the whirlwind that is Geralt of Fucking Rivia is on him

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _I'd really love for a Geralt/Jaskier fic please? Something nice and filthy with bottom!Jaskier where they both like it a bit rough and Jaskier likes having his hair pulled and being called a pretty boy.._

Jaskier is barely through the door before the whirlwind that is Geralt of Fucking Rivia is on him. He loses track of his feet, and his lute, and his bags. He loses track of _gravity._ For a dizzying second he doesn’t know which way is up. Geralt yanks him forward, slams the door closed behind him, then throws him into it with enough power that there might be a bit of Aard behind it.

“Ouch,” Jaskier says, but his hands are making their way to Geralt before they even know which way Geralt is. 

Geralt obligingly reroutes them south, and he’s undressed already so Jaskier’s wrapping his fingers around Geralt’s cock before his head’s even stopped spinning. He’s only just finished playing for the drunkards downstairs, and this is the exact reward he was hoping for.

“Bard,” Geralt growls. Oh, Jaskier loves it when Geralt growls. Wants that sound embedded right beneath his ribs.

“Rivia,” Jaskier says, being cheeky because he knows what’s got Geralt in a mood and he’s the one who caused it. He rubs his fingertips along the base of Geralt’s cock, picking out the pattern of veins that are as familiar as his lute strings. He could probably play them just as effectively. Make Geralt sing. He hums the opening lines of a song that doesn’t exist yet. “And to what do I owe this pleas–a _ah!”_

Geralt buries his teeth in Jaskier’s neck, which is mighty brave of him since Jaskier’s holding something infinitely more sensitive. Lucky for Geralt Jaskier flinches _into_ him, instead of away, hands going tight only for a second. 

“You know I hate that song,” Geralt whispers blood-wet into Jaskier’s skin.

“Oh,” Jaskier says, aiming for nonchalance and arriving instead at breathless. “Do you? I had no idea.”

“I told you what would happen the next time you sing it.”

“The people love the story of the silver-haired maiden sucking my– _oh, yes, Geralt.”_

Geralt releases Jaskier’s neck with a wet _pop,_ loud enough that Jaskier knows there’s going to be a dark bruise there tomorrow. Jaskier tries to draw him back in but Geralt never goes anywhere he doesn’t want to go, preferring to push Jaskier into place instead. Which is why one firm hand on Jaskier’s shoulder has his knees colliding with the floor. 

His mouth opens automatically.

“So well trained,” Geralt coos, slipping two fingers into Jaskier’s mouth and pushing them as far back as he can without even waiting for Jaskier to get used to the intrusion. Jaskier keeps his mouth open pointedly. He’ll suck Geralt’s fingers if he has to but what he really wants is Geralt’s—ah, yes, his _cock._

Geralt holds Jaskier’s mouth open with his fingers curled between Jaskier’s molars, and feeds his cock in slowly. Jaskier strains, trying to close his mouth around it so he can suck Geralt proper, but Geralt just keeps his mouth propped wide open, fucking in against his tongue instead. Oh, Melitele, _yes._

"You're so pretty down there," Geralt tells him. "Using your mouth for something useful, finally."

Which, okay. Rude. But still... He gets his hands on Geralt’s hips and tries to yank him in deeper, faster, but Geralt slows right down, barely even concerned though Jaskier’s using all his strength. If Geralt wanted to sheath himself in Jaskier’s throat and fuck him until he passed out there’s nothing Jaskier could do about it. He moans because yes, actually, Geralt’s done that before and he could do it now if he wants. Jaskier _wants._

Geralt grabs the soft locks of hair at the front of his face and tugs, shaking gently. Jaskier’s eyes close and he tries to lean into it, but Geralt’s got him right where he wants him. Pulling soft then hard at his hair like he's trying to make a point. If the point isn't _Make Jaskier Feel Great By Pulling His Hair_ then Jaskier misses it entirely.

“The silver-haired maiden makes you see stars, is that how it goes?”

The line is actually _‘Your beauty is the northern star, I guide myself by where you are’_ but Jaskier can’t move his head or mouth to answer. And Geralt doesn’t want an answer anyway. What he wants is Jaskier’s mouth. 

“She’s on her knees most every night,” Geralt continues, hissing, plunging deep.

_I want you noon to morning light._

Geralt pulls his fingers free but Jaskier only has half a second to enjoy Geralt’s cock properly before Geralt’s fisting his hair and yanking him upright, not even waiting for him to get his feet beneath him so all his weight goes into Geralt’s hold. Geralt spins him around and this time he gets slammed against the door face-first, opening his legs instinctively. Geralt presses between them.

“It’s you,” Jaskier manages, panting and still not all the way vertical, scalp tingling, already desperate for him even though he hasn't touched himself. “Geralt, you idiot, it’s you.”

“I know it’s me,” Geralt snaps, tearing into Jaskier’s clothes. “Everyone with a pair of eyes and ears knows it’s me.” He gives up on Jaskier’s belt and simply shoves Jaskier’s trousers down around his knees. Ow, _ow._ “Do you know how hard it is to get contracts when everyone thinks I spend my free time “baring my ass” at the drop of a hat. 

“You’re literally naked,” Jaskier points out, He bends further over. “Now will you get with the program and fuck me already?”

Geralt gets with the program.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: rainbow-space-dryad  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190300997156/sent-25aud-to-wires-via-paypal-im-not-sure-how)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	11. Sam/Cas; M; Crack, Bat sex, Blow jobs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas was being normal. He was just being completely, unobtrusively normal. Just doing his normal thing, hanging upside down and screaming at everything every few minutes. Normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _could you write me Sastiel, gen or whatever, with bats!_

Cas was being normal. He was just being completely, unobtrusively normal. Just doing his normal thing, hanging upside down and screaming at everything every few minutes. Normal.

“The SUN!” he screamed.

The SUN!” everyone screamed back.

“The fucking SUN!” he screamed again, just to make his point.

“That FUCKER!” everyone screamed back. He flapped his wings a bit to let off heat. He wiggled in place. He did some other bat-related things because he was, in fact, a bat.

“I’m going to POOP!”

“Sounds GOOD!”

He grabbed his branch with both claws and dangled right-way-up (which was really wrong-way-down) so he could poop on whatever idiot happened to be underneath him.

“I POOPED!” he yelled after.

“We SAW!”

He hang there for a few seconds, and since it was the middle of the day he napped for maybe three seconds, and then a thought occurred to him. It was an amazing thought. A groundbreaking thought. A never-before-thought-of-thought.

“The SUN!” he screamed.

Phew, it felt good to get that off his chest.

“That was a great yell,” Sam screamed from two branches up. He clambered along his branch and then down the trunk to join Cas on his branch.

“Hi!” Cas bellowed.

“Hi!” Sam bellowed back.

They napped for a few seconds and woke feeling refreshed. How? Why? Nobody knew. Bats are weird.

“Wanna suck my DICK?” Sam yelled (politely).

“Wanna suck MY dick?”

Sam was already sucking his dick. Wow, that was fast. Aren’t bats cool?

“I’m getting my DICK SUCKED!” Cas yelled.

“He’s getting his DICK SUCKED!”

He could reach Sam’s dick simultaneously if he wanted but he was a fan of a bit of foreplay first, so he preened Sam like a boss while Sam continued to lick his dick. Cas nibbled at the sensitive bits beneath his wings and licked Sam’s long, luscious hair, until he was sleek and even prettier than before (and Sam was already quite pretty, so that was saying something).

“I like your DICK!” Sam yelled, fortunately after he had pulled away from said dick. 

“I like my dick TOO!”

“Your DICK!” everyone screamed. What a nice community event this dick-sucking was turning into.

Sam was good and hard from Cas’s administrations, so Cas leaned down (up) and began to suck and lick at his cock, too. He gave it a nice full-body service, working from bottom to tip. Sam had an enormous cock. It was almost one whole centimeter long. Cas’s tongue was more than three times that length and he used every single millimeter of it until Sam was nice and hard and ready. 

“Your DICK!” he screamed.

Then he decided to nap for a bit.

He woke up a few seconds later and Sam’s cock was still hard so he licked it some more, and when Sam woke up from his nap he licked Cas’s cock some more too, and all-in-all it was a great way to spend the daytime.

After a few more minutes he huddled up nice and close to Sam and they pressed their dicks together, and they thrust in tandem, screaming heartily.

They came at the same time, and it was glorious, it was wonderful, it was very _loud_ and _energetic,_ and it lasted a full three and a half seconds!

Sam went to sleep.

“The SUN!” Cas screamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: ameliacareful  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190321249331/its-me-ameliacareful-for-my-small-donation)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	12. Destiel; E; First time, Miscommunication

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that’s how Dean ends up riding Cas like a two-bit bronco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _Castiel kind of wonders whether it's normal for humans to torture and kill each other after sex. Like objectively he knows, no, they do not, but on the other hand, that's what happened the one time he did have sex. So, when it looks like he and Dean might be headed toward the frickfrack, he's excited but also a little apprehensive._

It takes ages and ages to get Cas hard but Dean’s waited years—actual, literal, years—to take his boyfriend to bed, so maybe this is a backlog of blowjobs and wristies all rolled into one. 

Honestly he’d kind of figured that sex was off the cards, maybe because the last (only) time Cas had ever had sex had been with that April chick, and that had gone down like a lead balloon, so maybe Cas would never want _that_ again. And that had been fine coz it was _Cas,_ right? And he’d love Cas in whatever way he was allowed to.

But then Cas came to him practically vibrating with nerves, kissed Dean senseless and told him he was ready. 

So yeah, Dean doesn’t mind how long it’s taking. Dean the _opposite_ of minds. He has to blow the dust off his rusty skillset but getting on his knees for Cas feels right in a way the one-night-stands never had. Cas is only a little hard, even after all the kissing. Maybe because Dean spent an actual hour checking and double-checking and triple-checking this was what he wanted. And then another hour prepping himself _thoroughly_ in case Cas wanted… the whole package, so to speak.

He blows Cas long and sweet, sucks delicately at the head and makes sure to memorise every little twitch and sigh. He wants this to be so, so good for Cas. When his jaw gets sore he switches to hands, kissing Cas’s belly and thighs. He gets them both on the bed and switches back to sucking and Cas’s fingers are in his hair and Cas fills up so slow, and then Dean looks up at him from under his lashes and Cas’s dick twitches and it happens fast after that. Dean maintains eye contact and sucks him down, chokes a little because it’s been a while, okay, even the pros can get out of practice. And Cas groans and arches into him, and yeah, that’s it, that’s what Dean wants.

“It feels so good,” Cas says, astounded, clutching at Dean’s hair, his shoulders. “I didn’t know it would, oh, I didn’t know—”

“Yeah,” Dean says, pulling off to climb up him, kiss him dirty. “Yeah, it does.” He grinds down against Cas’s lap so Cas’s dick slides between the cheeks of his ass and Cas looks up at him with wide eyes so Dean says, “We don’t have to do anything more,” and Cas shakes his head and blinks hard and says, “No, no, I want to, I want it to be you, Dean.”

And that’s how Dean ends up riding Cas like a two-bit bronco, fisting himself roughly at the same time, so overcome with how stupid-in-love he is that he can barely string a sentence together, forming scrambled half-words to tell Cas how good he feels, and how perfect he is, and how much he loves this.

After, Dean throws his arms around Cas’s waist and peppers him with lazy kisses, wondering if he’s glowing like a freshly deflowered bride. 

He’s feeling good right up to the point where Cas turns his face into Dean’s neck and says, all whisper-quiet, “I won’t fight, Dean.”

Dean’s about three-quarters of the way to blissfully passing the fuck out, so he doesn’t even open his eyes, just spoons Cas harder. “Nnh?” he says, eloquently.

“When you decide to commence the post-coital ritual. I want you to know I won’t fight.”

“This _is_ the post-coital ritual,” Dean says, tightening his arms in case Cas hasn’t gotten the message. He opens his eyes.

Cas is handing him the angel blade.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Cas tells him gravely, bewilderingly.

“Is this, like, a kink thing?”

“If one of us has to kill the other, I won’t let it be you who dies.”

That takes way too much brain to parse. “Cas,” he says slowly, putting pieces together at the speed of a snail in a thunderstorm. “Do you think that I’m going to do what April tried to do?”

Cas puts the angel blade in Dean’s hand and closes Dean’s fingers around it. “The post-coital ritual,” he agrees solemnly.

So that’s… a thing that Cas apparently believes.

“Hoo boy,” Dean says, wondering where in the fresh hell he’s going to start. He looks at the angel blade. “Firstly,” he says, “where in God’s name were you hiding _this_ while we fucked?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: hazeldomain  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190302640946/i-want-a-fic-where-castiel-kind-of-wonders-whether)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	13. Team Free Will; Gen; Hurt!Dean, Near death experience, Hurt/comfort

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It hasn’t killed you,” Cas says through his teeth, like he’s forcing it to be true, like he can hold Dean together through sheer force of will, like he can’t see the two dozen wounds gouged so deep into Dean’s belly there’s almost light coming through from the other side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _could you do one member of TFW injured, and the others providing care? Like, Dean was injured on a hunt, and he's all grumbly and fussy, but Cas and Sam, maybe even Jack, all tend to his wounds despite the grumbliness of their patient._  
>  Sorry I made it so whumpy!

“This is so embarrassing,” he rasps, coughing blood. “All these years, and the thing that kills me is a baby vampire.”

“It hasn’t killed you,” Cas says through his teeth, like he’s forcing it to be true, like he can hold Dean together through sheer force of will, like he can’t see the two dozen wounds gouged so deep into Dean’s belly there’s almost light coming through from the other side.

“Okay,” Dean agrees, because it’s easier to agree. “It hasn’t killed me.” He tries to cough again but he can’t clench anything below his neck and he ends up sort of choking on blood instead, until Cas helps him roll onto his side so the whole fucking mess—his liquefied internal organs, no doubt—can dribble out. Cas uses the opportunity to start shredding his shirt. Well, what remains of his shirt, anyway. He’s doing the thing where he talks Dean through every step _(getting this out of the way so I can see the—oh, okay, it’s quite deep, that’s okay, we’ve got plenty of bandages)_ and it’s annoying but Dean can’t really get annoyed at him, because _he’s_ the one who taught Cas to do that.

At least it’s not the worst thing to listen to while dying. He closes his eyes. Hopefully Cas can keep him alive long enough to say goodbye to Sam and the kid before he goes. That would be nice. Actually now that he thinks about it things are feeling a little nicer in general. Dying sucks but Cas feels nice. He sounds nice. He sounds like he knows what he’s doing, which he’d _better_ since Dean was his first-aid tutor after he lost his grace.

“Gold star human,” he tells Cas, except the words don’t make it out properly past his lips. Maybe they don’t make it out at all. He struggles for a second because that’s not… he’s gotta make sure Cas knows. Cas has to know that Dean thinks that. That Dean thinks… what? He thinks _something._ It’s awful dark in here.

Pain sears along his side and then down over his belly and it hurts only from a distance until the smell hits him. It smells like rubbing alcohol, which is totally not cool. He’s dying over here and he doesn’t even get the whiskey?

“No you don’t get the fucking whiskey,” Sam says, and Dean has to open his eyes at that because Sam sounds cranky, and he regrets it as soon as he does it because Sam’s right in front of his face and Sam _looks_ cranky, too. Big ugly moose face. “And you don’t get to die,” Sam tells him as well. “If you close your eyes again so help me Chuck I’ll put a dead fish in your car, Dean.”

Dean blinks at him. It feels like a hundred years pass between one blink and the next but Sam’s still there anyway. Dean wants to tell him something but he can’t feel his lips. His face is floating about two meters above his body, or maybe it’s his body that’s floating two meters above his face.

“The sterilised ones wwith the green line,” Sam directs Jack, taking a whole stack of the pads and pressing them directly over Dean’s kidney, which jolts Dean into enough of an awareness to know that he doesn’t want to be aware at _all._ He flails reflexively, and Cas’s hands come down over his own, keeping his arms out at weird angles to stop him interfering with the entire hospital supply-room of bandages littering his body.

“There’s a suture kit in the bunker,” Cas is saying, and Sam’s telling Jack how to attach… something, and Dean loses a few more minutes that could be years and then wakes suddenly when the ground drops away from him, his brother and his angel and his son carrying his limp body all the way back to where Baby’s doors are thrown wide open to welcome him home. 

They try to get him into the backseat with as little movement as possible but he blacks out again anyway, wakes with his head in Cas’s lap. Jack’s sitting backwards in the front seat, holding a bag of saline up high. He should be wearing his seatbelt. Dean tries to tell him as much. He tries to tell him he loves him. Nothing’s coming out right, even though this is _important._

“None of that,” Cas tells him. He’s holding a blood-soaked rag against the place where Dean’s belly button might have been. “No goodbyes, Dean.” He leans down over him. “No goodbyes, because you’re not going anywhere.”

Dean meets Sam’s eyes in the rearview. Jack swaps the saline to his other hand so he can squeeze Dean’s fingers over the back of the front seat. Dean squeezes back.

And he holds on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: tapbluesnlindyhopdancer  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190270469831/just-donated-35-aud-to-wires-if-youre-still)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	14. Sam/Dean; E; Rape, Knifeplay, Dark!Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Say that again,” he threatens, voice pitched way down in the dark where it’s never had any right being.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: _I'd simply love a noncon wincest fic...! Bottom!Sam? I fucking love your writing, ya know...! It's brilliant! Eep! Anyway, I'd love for Dean to be really mean and scary and force himself on poor Sammy... Maybe Dean's drunk and finally snaps when he gets into a fight with his little brother - and he decides to take what he's secretly wanted for all these years? How about a little knifeplay? You can never go wrong with knifeplay and porn!_

“Fuck you, Dean.”

Dean’s on him in a heartbeat. He presses all up against the back of him and when Sam kicks out instinctively he rides the wave of his body. Gets the heel of his hand into the back of his neck, right at the base of the skull, so he can shove Sam’s face forward, crunch his nose against the motel’s shitty plaster.

“Say that again,” he threatens, voice pitched way down in the dark where it’s never had any right being. Especially not when this is _Sam._ This is his little brother, his Sammy, but even Dean has limits, and Sam’s always had a compass pointed directly at every single one of his buttons.

“Get off!” Sam yells, throwing an elbow back. Dean catches it easily and wrenches his arm back and up until Sam goes limp, panting hard against the wall. His other hand is flat against the plaster and he taps twice, like this is some game, like this is a spar session and Dean’s even close to letting him call uncle. 

Dean’s knife is in his back pocket. And then it’s in his hand. And then it’s flicked open, and there’s sharp steel pressed against the side of Sam’s throat. Sam stills even further, barely breathing. From this angle he won’t be able to see the blade but they’ve both had enough experience to know what it feels like, how even a flinch can spell disaster.

Dean lets go of his arm and Sam brings it back in front of him slowly, so he’s got both palms against the wall, though he still isn’t struggling. “Dean,” he says, lowly. His ass is cradled in the crook of Dean’s thighs. His legs are trapped between Dean’s. There’s no more room between them, just a knife and all this unspoken fuckery that Dean’s sick to death of ignoring.

He uses his free hand to reach around and cup Sam through his jeans.

“Dean,” Sam says again, losing octaves and air. “Don’t–”

Dean does.

He pulls at the waistband mercilessly, doesn’t even bother opening anything up before trying to shove it all down, Sam twitching the whole way but still not flinching, not even when his jeans and boxers flop uselessly down around his knees and Dean cups him again.

He’s got a knife in one hand and Sam’s soft, vulnerable dick in the other. And they both know which one’s more dangerous.

“This is mine now,” Dean says, pressing a little with both hands. A bead of blood on Sam’s neck and a rush of goosebumps right down the back of Sam’s spine, ending in the barest of flinches, almost a little hiccough into Dean’s fist.

“Don’t,” Sam says again. He doesn’t even try to deny that he knows what Dean’s talking about. “You can still walk away.”

No the fuck he can’t. 

He kicks Sam’s legs out as far as they can go with the jeans in the way. He grabs Sam’s hand off the wall and spits into it, drops it onto Sam’s dick. Then he spits into his own hand and presses hard with the knife so Sam cries out all low and desperate. He’s sick of pretending like this isn’t something he wants. And if Sam doesn’t then that’s just something he’s going to have to figure out on his own. 

He shoves a finger in.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: deeranger  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190204603556/hi-donated-to-wires-id-simply-love-a-noncon)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	15. Cas/Sam/Dean; E; Tentacles, Rape, Godstiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas’s wings flared out behind him except they weren’t wings anymore, they were dark, oozing masses of malevolent intent. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: godstiel + wincestiel + non-consentacles

“You will bow down and profess your love unto me, your Lord. Or I shall destroy you.”

Cas’s wings flared out behind him except they weren’t wings anymore, they were dark, oozing masses of malevolent intent. 

“Cas,” Dean warned.

“Just get on your knees,” Bobby hissed at him.

The wings spread out along the back wall, and that’s when Dean realised they weren’t just shadows, they were really real, and really _present._ Dozens of writhing black limbs melting and reforming every second so it was impossible to follow their shape.

“Your subservience has been noted,” Cas told Bobby. “Your life shall be spared.” He snapped his fingers and Bobby disappeared.

Sam lifted his weapon. “Cas, what the hell!”

“Kneel,” Cas told him calmly. “Or you will be forced to.”

“Cas it’s _us!”_

“I know who you are, Sam Winchester.” Cas appeared to grow even larger. The black limbs were curling and creeping around the outside of the room, encircling them completely. “But do you know who _I_ am?”

The black limbs struck.

Dean was hefted into the air, his clothes torn to shreds in an instant. He lost his weapon immediately. Sam cried out from beside him and Dean tried to grab at any of the limbs he could reach. Tentacles, fuck. They were _tentacles._ He grabbed one in a chokehold and it disintegrated in his fist, reforming immediately and wrapping around his neck to choke _him_ instead. His mouth gaped and a tentacle plunged inside immediately. He gagged and the tentacle evaporated, only to be replaced by another, even larger tentacle, which lunged even further down. From Sam’s coughs and splutters he was getting the same treatment. 

Dean’s ankles were yanked apart and he kicked out at whatever tentacles were holding him. Anything he hit immediately melted, and was replaced by three more. He struggled for breath around the relentless tentacle in his mouth. He tried to force his way closer to where Sam _better not be getting hurt right now._

“Kneel,” Cas said, with utmost calm.

The tentacles shoved his knees up to his chest. They manhandled him upside-down, then right-way-up, until he was too dizzy to figure out which way the floor was. He couldn't have knelt even if he wanted to. He caught a glimpse of Sam surrounded by writhing tentacles and grabbed for him, hauling him close. The tentacles didn’t try to stop him. In fact they seemed enamored of the idea, and wrapped them up tight together, so Dean’s left thigh was between Sam’s legs and Sam’s left thigh was between his own. 

And then the tentacles went for their dicks. 

“Cas!” Dean screamed around the thing that was exploring the inside of his cheeks. “Stop!”

Cas didn’t stop. More and more tentacles kept pouring out of the place where his wings used to be, until all Dean could see was black. They plugged up his nose, his ears. They covered his eyes in thick, oozing tendrils, so the only thing he had left was the weight of Sam against him. The heavy thickening of his cock against Dean’s belly.

He tried to ignore it, but his own cock was filling, too. Dozens of searching, sucking tentacles had plastered to his balls and the sensitive insides of his thighs. Another was exploring the head of his dick, dipping into his slit. He tried to shake his head, but the tentacle around his neck thickened and tightened, forcing him to arch backwards. Tendrils wrapped around and around his sack, stretching it past the point of pleasure, until his balls felt crushed and vulnerable. He wrenched against the things holding him but there wasn’t any give _anywhere._ The tentacles kept reforming around him in increasingly elaborate and strong holds. He was pressed against Sam from chin to crotch, their waists cinched so tight together that he could barely get a full breath even when the things in his mouth and around his neck slackened.

The cheeks of his ass were pulled apart and he knew Sam could feel the thick wedge of an enormous tentacle as it nudged against his hole. He knew Sam could feel it because he could feel an identical one nudging at Sam.

There was a voice in his head.

“Yield,” Cas said, with all the might of a God.

Dean couldn’t speak, but he tried to anyway. _No Fucking Way!_

“Then I’ll make you.”

The tentacle rammed home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: ryugarika  
> Original post [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190333509726/todays-fire-ficlet-is-brought-to-you-by)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	16. Sam/Dean; M; Stanford!Era, Pining, Sam/Jess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam wakes and Dean is right where he’s supposed to be

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Stanford!Era Sam, wincest please!

Sam wakes and Dean is right where he’s supposed to be: pressed up hard against Sam’s back, his dick pressed up even harder against Sam’s thigh. Sam’s knee goes an inch to the side and Dean fits even better in the space Sam’s created, both of their bodies folding into each other, easy as breathing. Easier.

“I missed you,” Sam mumbles into the pillows. They smell like Jess. Everything smells like Jess. He rolls away from them, rolls into Dean, gets that whiskey-gunpowder skin up close. On his cheeks and lips and chin. An unfamiliar scratch because Dean’s got stubble, now. Sam keeps forgetting.

“You can come home whenever you want,” Dean says into Sam’s neck, like the words are kisses. And then he puts his lips there all tender and warm, like the kisses are words.

Sam can’t. Dean knows Sam can’t. But still.

“Maybe,” he says, just to feel the way his heart skips a beat, just to feel the way Dean’s fingers clench against his hips, the way his neck curves so his temple is against the underside of Sam’s jaw. Like they can have this forever.

Dean only ever says please when he’s got Sam underneath him. At least that’s what it’s like here, when they’re together like this. Dean shapes the word against Sam’s skin and it’s nothing like the last time, it’s nothing like Dean clutching at his jacket, trying to get him to stay. _Please,_ he’d said, _Sammy, please._

“Please,” he says now, just as desperate but in a different way. His fingers leave marks for Sam to lie about tomorrow. His teeth even more so.

Sam spreads his legs a little and Dean falls into him, slotting up right where he belongs. 

“Don’t go,” Dean begs, trying to pull him back into the motel room. Except that’s not really here, even though it could be. 

“Don’t go,” Dean begs, lining his cock up to thrust hard against Sam, both of them pressed up against each other even though Sam doesn’t remember taking off his clothes. He holds Dean close, the way he didn’t hold him that last time. He gets a hand around the both of them, jacks fast because the end is looming already, just like it always does.

Dean comes, clenching down over Sam like a ceiling, like he’s big enough to keep Sam here forever.

 _Please,_ he says.

“I have to go,” Sam tells him, and rolls away.

“Bad dream?” Jess murmurs. Her hair is pale in the streetlight coming through the blinds. 

Sam doesn’t answer, just curves his body around the shape of her and puts his hand around her waist and leaves the rest of the bed empty as though someone else will come to claim the vacant space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: hellhoundsprey from silver9mm  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190637999541/todays-fire-ficlet-is-for-hellhoundsprey-s).  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	17. Geralt/Jaskier; G; Podcast, Script format, Jaskier being a shit, Don't ask me about timelines i don't know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Geralt, distantly: I’M NOT GOING ON YOUR DAMN SHOW, BARD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: “Somehow Jaskier hears the Myths & Legends podcast, and has now found a whole new format to torment Geralt with.”

**Jaskier:** And heeeeeere we go! Hello my friends, foes, and former flings! It’s time for another episode of… Myths and Legends! With your host… Me! Julien Alfred Pankrats! Just Jaskier to my friends… And you are ALL my friends! Well, maybe not after this episode… Today we’re covering—oh, I love this, this is one of my favourites. Today we’re covering the Butcher of Blaviken, the witcher you hate to love, half man, half monster… Geralt of Rivia!

 **Geralt, distantly:** I’M NOT GOING ON YOUR DAMN SHOW, BARD

 **J, over the top:** Yes, that’s right, I have gone to great lengths to secure never-before-told histories of the White Wolf himself. Our first guest tonight is Geralt’s former trainer and on-again-off-again teammate, coming to you via a xenovox communicator all the way from Kaer Morhen, it’s… Vesemir!

 **Vesemir:** I was told this was about a contract.

 **J:** It sure is!   
[ _whispering_ ] it sure isn’t!   
Vesemir, you’re a witcher as well, yes?

 **V:** [ _grunts_ ]

 **J:** Could you describe for the audience Geralt’s fighting style?

 **V:** [ _grunts_ ]

 **J:** Third question: could you tell us any stories from Geralt’s youth?

 **V:** [ _a brief, threatening hum_ ]

 **J:** Final question: are witchers naturally noncommunicative or is it just me?

 **V:** Guess.

 **J:** Right. Well although I can almost hear your murder face through the xenovox this show is actually an audible form of media so for the people listening at home I’ll quickly describe Geralt’s fighting style as, hmm, would it be poetic of me to call it rather beautiful? Sort of like a dance. It might be the bard in me but I think he would be a wonderful dancer if anyone could convince him to drop the sharp-and-pointies for long enough. He’s graceful, wouldn’t you agree, Ves? May I call you Ves?

 **V:** No.

 **J:** Very light on his toes, isn’t he, Ves? Which is surprising given he weighs as much as a horse and eats like one, too. Biceps to the gods, honestly. He once carried an injured soldier eight miles, did you know that? The guy was probably twice my weight, but Geralt’s never carried _me_ when I’ve been injured, even if I would have really liked to be swept off my feet like a prince rescued from a tower and—”

 **V:** what?

 **J:** what?

 **V:** what?

_—a sharp crack—_

_—line cuts out—_

**J:** Oops, bye Ves. Doesn’t matter, I’ll cut that scene later. Okay, where was I? Where are my notes… Blah blah fighting skills blah blah monster killing blah blah witcher witcher blah blah… Ah! Okay, here we go, from the top… [ _clears throat_ ].

 **J:** You’re listening to Myths and Legends with Jaskier! You’ve heard the tales of Geralt’s prowess with his swords, matched only by the tales of his prowess in the bedroom. But has his unusual taste for bed-partners finally caught up with our silver-haired witcher, or has he finally bitten off more than he can— _ahem_ —chew? To give an insider’s insight on the matter I invite you to welcome our second guest of the show! Though she’s often be called the most beautiful woman in the realm she’s deadlier than an asp and has more power in her pinkie toe than half the mage’s circle. Hardly the first person you’d invite to bed! And yet our first guest tonight knows her way around every one of Geralt’s swords, so to speak, so may I introduce—

 **G, still distantly:** THIS BETTER NOT BE YENNEFER

 **J:** STOP LISTENING IN WHILE I’M RECORDING

 **G:** STOP ASKING YEN ABOUT MY SEX LIFE

 **J:** IF YOU STOPPED BANGING AGAINST THE WALLS WHILE I’M ASLEEP I WOULDN’T HAVE TO

 **G:** That was YEARS AGO PANKRATZ!

 **J:** Wait what are you, STOP IT! Damn you, it’s fine when I tell the world about your biceps but the minute I try to add some actual pizazz you get all huffy at me, STOP IT I SAID! Don’t touch that, I need it for my sho—

_—a brief scuffle—_

_—sound cuts out—_

* * *

**J, echoing a little:** Welcome back to Myths and Legends. Sorry for the disruption, but somehow a witcher-sized fist went through one of my fragile pieces of equipment. All fixed now! And we’re recording from a secure location in… hang on let me check my map… Huh. The Cockatrice Caverns. That doesn’t sound… great.

_—the sound of a few dozen extra torches being lit—_

**J:** Anyway I’m sure it’s fine. Where were we? Oh yes! The witcher’s sordid past. And our next guest is on the line! Yennefer can you hear me?

 **Yennefer:** Hello, my sweet songbird.

 **J:** Oh stop it you big tease. Do you call Geralt names, too?

 **Y:** Maybe, though I’m sure you could come up with better.

 **J:** Finally, someone who appreciates my writing talents.

 **Y:** Has the mean witcher been criticising your lyrics again, pretty bard?

 **J:** Yes! Isn’t he just the _worst?_

 **Y:** Well I have good and bad news for you, nightingale.

 **J:** Bad news first, you know the rule.

 **Y:** The bad news is I’m afraid we’re going to have to cut our little chat short.

 **J:** We just started!

 **Y:** The good news is that witchers are very possessive, and he’ll realise how much you mean to him after a lovely near-death experience.

 **J:** ………   
a what now?

_—a distant clicking sound—_

**Y:** Very good thinking, by the way; giving the name of your location right at the beginning. I’m sure that’ll make it much easier for Sir Witcher to find you. If he’s still listening in, that is.

_—a closer clicking sound—_

**J:** Uh, Yen?

_—a much closer clicking sound—_

**J, whispering:** I think there’s something down here.

 **Y:** Well it’s been a pleasure as always, little lark. Give my best to Roach when Geralt’s done slaying wee beasties and has successfully been enlightened as to his feelings for you. Ta now!

_—line cuts out—_

_—clicking sounds—_

_—a muffled whimper—_

**G, very very faintly:** JASKIER! JASKIER? IF YOU’RE ALREADY DEAD I’M GOING TO FUCKING KILL YOU, HEAR ME?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: persephonesveil  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/612200100075388928/todays-fire-ficlet-is-thanks-to-persephonesveil).  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	18. Will/Hannibal; E; Murder, Blood play

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Will’s bloodlust wasn’t like Hannibal’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: Can I get murder husbands for fics for fires? I'm not set on a pairing, soft, or dark... Up to you, I just need murder (and love, of course, they're all husbands)!!

Hannibal held the man’s head in both hands, forced down at an angle so both of them could watch Will’s knife descend. He rested his chin on the man’s shoulder. Will wasn’t watching where he was aiming. His eyes were on Hannibal’s face, judging the angle and depth and speed from the tiny dilations of Hannibal’s pupils, the movement of his mouth, his nose. 

Will’s bloodlust wasn’t like Hannibal’s. Hannibal liked the craft of it, the stink of it. The part when he was knuckles-deep in someone’s body and the organ in his hand was still throbbing, twitching. The part when the body belonged more to him than it had ever belonged to the original owner.

This was like that. He gave the barest twitch of his finger and Will removed the blade, let it fall dripping and fingerprinted to the floor. Hannibal was holding the organ that was Will Graham in both hands, and Will was still throbbing, twitching. Will had always belonged more to Hannibal than to himself.

The man between them gurgled, and Hannibal snapped his neck with a practiced twist, letting his weight fall into Will’s arms. Will reached around the still-warm corpse, touched Hannibal’s shoulder, his elbow. Light, questioning. Can he touch? Will he be allowed to touch? His blood-crusted fingernails were almost delicate. The sound of disposable plastic was crisp and sterilized. Hannibal reached for Will’s hands and pried them away from the plastic, diverting them to Will’s own face. Will cupped his own cheeks, followed Hannibal’s gloved hands to tug and pull at the skin around his mouth and eyes, smearing blood in every direction. The corpse between them fell sideways and Will pressed closer to keep it upright, blood drying almost immediately on impact.

“Did you enjoy that?” Hannibal asked. He slid two gloved fingers into Will’s mouth so Will couldn’t respond, only follow the motion of Hannibal’s hand to nod. Hannibal dug fingertips into the soft fleshy part beneath Will’s tongue, then put his thumb on the outside and squeezed, trying to make the fingers meet. Will coughed and drooled but didn’t move. Usually Hannibal despised human fluids, the pervasive drip of anything that wasn’t blood. But Will was different. His tears. His spit. His come. All set to a dial that only Hannibal controlled.

He stood abruptly and the corpse finally fell, barely stiff at all, yet. He kicked it over so it was face-up, and then used his hold on Will’s face to toss him over the body. Will landed awkwardly, instinctively trying to keep away from the wound even though it was far too late to rectify the damage. 

“Drop,” Hannibal told him, and Will dropped. His hands went wide. His knees even wider. A perfectly trained doll, though of course no doll was quite like him. Hannibal tucked a foot under Will’s crotch, between his body and the corpse’s. It didn’t matter if Will was hard or not, it rarely mattered. A fine tremor ran over his body and he stayed where he was, splayed out and waiting for the command. 

“Two minutes,” Hannibal said, and Will drove his hips down against Hannibal’s shoe, humping helplessly against the corpse and the only part of Hannibal he had been gifted. Two minutes wouldn’t be enough time for him to reach orgasm, though he had surprised Hannibal before. It would be more of his body left behind. Another taunting clue for the detectives that were trying to keep up with them. 

Hannibal pulled his pile of business cards out of his pocket, and began to look for the next meal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: troubleseeker ❤❤❤  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190451965781/can-i-get-murder-husbands-for-fics-for-fires-im).  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	19. Sam/Dean/Jack; E; First time, D/s undertones, kissing, dom!Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We should let Jack watch next time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: I'd be keen for any combination of sam/dean/jack, preferably consensual with D/s dynamics but like honestly anything you write will be great!

Dean’s a terrible terrible liar, but he’s skittish when he thinks he’s being cornered, so Sam waits til he’s got Dean right on the brink of orgasm before he brings anything up. He’s got a hand around Dean’s cock and his mouth on Dean’s chest and the fingers of his other hand pressing against Dean’s tongue so he feels Dean’s whole body react when he says, almost conversational:

“We should let Jack watch next time.”

Dean comes immediately, body curving up under Sam’s, groaning desperately around his fingers.

He tries to lie about it later, pass it off as nothing. _Don’t bring our fucking son up while we’re in bed, Jesus._ But Sam’s seen the way he looks at Jack. And more importantly, he’s seen the way Jack looks back. 

It doesn’t take long after that. A couple more well-timed remarks, a casual comment over dinner, and then Sam’s leading Jack into the bedroom where he’s already got Dean all strung out and wanting. 

“Sam,” Dean says, low and desperate. His limbs are stretched to the corners of the bed. His eyes are covered.

Jack makes the tiniest noise. A startled, excited _oh._ He takes an aborted step to the bed and looks back at Sam.

Dean freezes, turning his head to listen. “Sam,” he says again, this time even more desperate. His cock practically springs towards his belly button. “Is he? Did you–?”

“Jack’s here,” Sam tells him calmly. He strides forward to kiss Dean right on his panting lips. Dean practically vibrates beneath him. 

“Oh, God,” he says, turning his head towards where he heard the sound Jack made. Sam kisses him again, and when Dean doesn’t immediately turn back into it Sam grabs his cheeks and makes him, digs fingers in so he can lick into Dean’s mouth.

Jack makes another sound. Sam looks at him over his shoulder, smiles low, seductive.

“It’s rude to stare,” he says. “You should give him a kiss hello.”

This time it’s Dean who makes the startled little sound. His fingers clench against his restraints. Sam doesn’t move over, so Jack goes to the other side of the bed, clambers eager and awkward up to Dean’s face. He looks at Sam again but Sam doesn’t give any further instruction, just nods towards where Dean’s breathing sharp and fast, lips parted.

Jack puts his little hand on Dean’s cheek, and Dean’s head makes an odd half-jerk that Sam identifies as Dean trying to shove the eye mask off. Jack presses his face to Dean’s, clumsily connects their lips, and Sam whips the mask off so Dean’s blinking in the light, watching Jack watching him as they kiss.

“Hi,” Jack says, blushing and bright-eyed.

“Hi,” Dean mouths back, skin pale but for two bright spots up high on his cheeks. 

“Cute,” Sam says. He leans in so his face is next to Jack’s and then kisses Dean proper: deep and hard and _forceful._ He leans back and Jack takes his cue automatically, doing his best to imitate exactly what Sam did. It’s messy and loud and uncoordinated. It’s adorable, is what it is. And Dean’s writhing under it like it’s the hottest thing that’s ever happened to him. Sam has to intercede when it’s obvious that Jack’s not coming up for air, even though Dean looks like he’d happily asphyxiate for just a bit more.

“Sam,” he’s saying. “J-Jack, oh, _God.”_

“That was beautiful,” Sam says, he lets his eyes wander down to Jack’s lips, then slowly back up. “You’re beautiful,” he clarifies. And then he draws Jack in to kiss him as well, completely ignoring the absolutely pained sounds Dean makes beneath them. When he leans away Jack looks like he’s just been given ten birthdays at once. Sam thumbs his lower lip. “You’re a natural,” he says. “Dean loves kisses.” He leans in so he’s almost touching Jack’s lips, but not quite. “Now would you like me to show you where else he likes to be kissed?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: theactualpiemaker  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190487500291/hey-for-the-fic-for-fires-thing-id-be-keen-for).  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	20. Sam/Dean; E; D/s, Pain play, Dom!Dean, hell!traumatised!Sam, Blow jobs, Caning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s brought the crop with him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "Could I have a porny wincest? And i'd extra special love a porny wincest where dean lovingly helps sam through his lucifer ptsd issues by uh... [insert painplay of your choice], because that's just the wholesome kind of chick i am."

Sam is waiting for him in the spare bedroom. Dean stands directly in front of him so Sam can lean on Dean’s thigh and look up at him, hands behind his back, naked, and not a rope or cuff in sight. Sam can get up and leave whenever he wants. (And he has, in the past. When Dean goes too far or not far enough or Sam just needs to make sure that he _can_ or any other myriad of reasons that force him up off the floor and out the door. Never _going,_ just going _away.)_

But for now Sam’s right here. His cheek is on Dean’s hip. His shoulder is against Dean’s thigh. He’s a heavy weight for a long second before he kneels back upright, bowing his head to show the expanse of his back. He waits. 

Dean’s brought the crop with him. He puts one foot on either side of Sam’s bent legs so Sam’s head is practically resting against his crotch. He touches one of Sam’s shoulder’s with the folded leather head, and Sam just breathes, not moving an inch. Not like when they first did this, when Sam had to be fully clothed, upright, towering over Dean and whatever other demons–both real and imagined–he was fighting.

Dean slides the crop down the back of Sam’s shoulder, then over each bump of his vertebrae. Sam’s breath is hot even through the denim. He’s calm, meditative. Dean circles around to his other shoulder, then follows the same path back down, except this time at the top of the arc he taps the crop right in the center of Sam’s back. 

Sam keeps breathing. 

Dean taps all down his sides and back and, very lightly, the top of his shoulders. When Sam’s breathing doesn’t change Dean follows the same route, but a little harder. The crop makes a _tak-tak_ sound on Sam’s bare skin. Dean finishes the arc with a sharp _slap_ that’s more audible than physical, and Sam jerks into him slightly. There’s a moment where his hands clench where they’re locked at the small of his back. The moment where his body is telling him that he’s trapped in the dark, stuck between Dean’s legs and the crop. But the moment passes, and Dean feels Sam’s nod against his crotch.

He hits harder.

Sam takes it all until he’s pink from the base of his neck to the place where his hands have gone relaxed and gentle. When Dean pauses Sam nuzzles him lazily, no doubt feeling Dean’s own interest in the proceedings.

Dean fists Sam’s hair and starts walking backwards, so Sam has to half-crawl across the carpet after him, blinking owlishly like he’s only half awake. Dean sits in his usual chair by the bed, and gets Sam into place between his spread legs. 

“Word,” he prompts, and Sam has to take a moment before he breathes “Poughkeepsie” against the press of Dean’s cock. “You know what to do,” Dean tells him, and Sam puts his long, clever fingers on the one place Dean wants them most. He’s still balancing on his knees, leaning forward to get to Dean’s cock, and the angle has his ass out. There’s a mirror next to them so Dean can see where the pinkness ends and Sam’s unblemished skin begins. The untouched curve of his ass.

Sam scoops him out of his underwear and Dean rewards him with a few sharp taps on each cheek, warming him up. Sam tucks the head of Dean’s cock into his mouth and gives one slow, careful suck, which earns him another series of smacks, causing Sam to practically drape himself over Dean’s legs, his hands clutching weakly at the back of Dean’s shirt. 

Sam goes down fast, after that. His tongue barely moves against Dean’s frenulum. He just breathes, and sometimes remembers to suck. 

Dean crops him until he’s gone from pink to cherry red, and Sam takes it so well, making small cries at the hardest hits but staying right where he is, staying right here with Dean where the pain is only temporary and it’s being overseen by someone he trusts.

“Good,” Dean tells him, though he doesn’t think Sam really hears him. He drops the crop and jerks himself quickly, keeping the head of his cock in Sam’s perfect open mouth. When he comes Sam blinks a little bit awake, and Dean smears his cockhead over his lips until Sam smiles dazedly and licks. There’s a little puddle on the floor between Sam’s legs but it’s impossible to tell whether any of it is from Sam actually coming, though Dean suspects not. Sam went down fast, tonight. 

“Bed,” Dean tells him, and Sam smiles slow and warm and beautiful.

Yeah, bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: chiisana-sukima  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190400672726/hi-for-my-donation-gift-could-i-have-a-porny).  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)


	21. Boyking!Sam/Demon!Dean; E; Blood, Meat hooks, Dom!Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “King,” Dean greets, the word dripping thick from between his red-dyed lips. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt: "wincest + boyking!Sam + demon!Dean"

When Dean gets back he smells like corruption. There’s blood on his hands and face and teeth and dripping from his hair. The blood has that pure silver sheen like it’s come directly from the souls of the damned which, knowing Dean, it probably has.

The demons vying for Sam’s attention slink away, recognising defeat. Dean stalks through them like a holy man parting the sea. The hellhounds below Sam’s throne howl and gnash their teeth, smelling blood. Even a Hell Prince would hesitate to approach them, but the hounds part for their own, and Dean takes the empty space between them, right where he belongs, at Sam’s feet.

“King,” Dean greets, the word dripping thick from between his red-dyed lips. 

Sam flicks a finger and the soul-damned blood scorches clear, leaving Dean’s skin black and smoking underneath. 

“You flirt,” Dean says as the skin heals. He kisses the inside of Sam’s knee, and then higher. Sam takes a fistful of his hair and drags him up on his knees to kiss him properly. Dean licks into Sam’s mouth and Sam bites him for the insolence, sucking the blood straight off Dean’s tongue. Dean just grins and opens wider, grinding his hips into the base of Sam’s throne while Sam sucks on his tongue. His hands creep down; one towards Sam’s cock and one towards his own.

“Uh uh,” Sam chides softly. He lifts his finger and a rope appears, yanking Dean’s arms roughly behind his back. Dean flexes against it, just to feel Sam tighten it. He strains his muscles so Sam can feel the weight of resistance against his power. There’s no contest–there never is–but Sam likes to feel Dean batter himself against Sam’s mind. He’s so strong. Nothing like the underlings that flit about the rest of the room, competing for Sam’s attention like he could ever truly be interested in anything so weak. Dean is a true demon. Perhaps the last true demon left. He’s rage and lust and greed and _Sam,_ all bottled up in the shell of the righteous man. 

Sam spreads Dean’s knees and attaches them to either side of the throne base. He runs hands down Dean’s body and evaporates whatever scraps of clothing he finds on the way down. The demons milling around the room barely look up. Sam grabs Dean’s ass and hauls him closer, so he’s practically bent in half over Sam’s lap. He digs his nails in, hard enough to bruise, and then hard enough to tear skin. Pricks of blood bead to the surface. Sam licks the tips of his fingers one by one while Dean writhes, twisting to find a position that allows him to rut against Sam’s throne or leg or _anything._

Sam pushes his power over Dean’s skin, tasting him, burning him, sizzling through his veins just to feel him heal closed with Sam still inside. He shoves himself into all Dean’s nooks and crannies, makes Dean _feel_ it. Dean almost screams when Sam solidifies in his ass, ratcheting Dean open with a cock Sam forms on the spot; big even by Dean’s standards, and filling him just how Dean likes it.

Dean shudders and presses even closer forward, clenching and rocking to try and get the pressure deeper, right where he wants it. He lays flat over Sam’s lap and nuzzles into Sam’s crotch, trying to get to his cock with nothing but his mouth. _Sam,_ he’s panting. _Highness. Let me._ Dean’s always prettiest when he’s begging. He gets Sam’s pants down with his teeth and Sam’s hard underneath, of course he is. He’s been hard since he first smelled Dean approaching. His cock isn’t human anymore but Dean’s just as hungry for it, licking the hard ridges and sucking urgently at the pointed head. 

Sam scratches Dean’s scalp while Dean messily does his best to suck Sam off, all while he desperately tries to chase his own pleasure.

Sam summons a hook from the ceiling. He traces the sharp point over Dean’s shoulders and back. Then he grabs a fistful of Dean’s hair to haul him upright. Dean eyes the hook greedily. Sam could put it through his back to hold him up by the spine. Or he could let it hang from Dean’s chest, the point embedded a hairsbreadth from Dean’s heart.

He hooks it under Dean’s chin, and with a thought it begins to retract into the ceiling, forcing Dean’s head higher and higher. 

“Sam,” Dean whispers, and his eyes flick black. He strains to raise his chin higher. With his knees spread and held to the floor, soon there’s nowhere else for him to go. The hook pierces skin, and then muscle, and then the soft epithelial tissue at the base of Dean’s mouth, right where his tongue is attached. The point of the hook slips out from between his lips. His blood drips down his straining neck, and Sam licks it up to the source. He kisses Dean’s panting mouth, and sucks at the tip of the hook.

“Beautiful,” he says. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gifted to: dreaminblue67 via silver9mm  
> Original post: [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190951589088/todays-fire-ficlet-is-sponsored-by-the)  
> Request your own ficlet [here](https://omgbubblesomg.tumblr.com/post/190158207421/by-the-way-if-any-of-you-donate-to-the-aus) :)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] Another Bardic Disaster](https://archiveofourown.org/works/24367195) by [Chantress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chantress/pseuds/Chantress)




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